


firm foundation

by deadlybride



Series: kink bingo fills [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M, Panties, Post-Possession, Season/Series 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 05:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: After getting Michael out of Dean's body, Sam is treated to a surprise.





	firm foundation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omgbubblesomg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/gifts).



> written for the 2018 SPNKinkBingo, filling the 'Panty Kink' square.
> 
> ...also basically written in response to a thrown gauntlet. Thanks, bubbles.

They’re alone, thank god thank _god_  when he gets Dean back, when it’s safe again, when that celestial fucking bastard gets blown clean to the other end of the universe—and for a long time-slowed moment Sam just stares at him. His brother, and no one else. Dean’s blinking hard, shaking his head like he’s gotten a blow to it, and maybe it feels that way. “Dean,” Sam says, barely a breath, and Dean looks up and at him with a rung-bell shock that breaks open his face into clean emotion, not that awful still arrogance of the angel controlling him, and like that Sam takes three long steps across the warehouse floor and grabs Dean into his arms, pulls him in close and tight, and normally Dean would make a crack about how he _can’t breathe, Sasquatch, lighten up_ , only he’s holding Sam back just as hard.

He slides a hand up the back of Dean’s head, breathes the familiar salt-smell of him tainted by ozone, and Dean says under his breath _jesus_  and then, louder, “Sammy, I’m sorry, I—” and Sam says “Shut _up_ ” against the top of his ear and knocks his chin up and kisses him. Dean makes that stupid little surprised noise, the one he always makes, and Sam’s so fiercely glad he could just die right there—but he didn’t die, did he, and neither did Dean. They’re both of them here, and Dean’s lips are the same holy land they’ve always been, his sharp intake of breath and the way he surges up against and into Sam, his hands gripping familiarly at Sam’s hip, at his shoulder, tight but only human-tight—

and there’s a filthy workbench up against the wall that it’s easy to shove Dean over to, and then there’s shoving the jacket off his arms and snapping the buttons on that _stupid_ fucking vest and Sam kisses him sharp and clumsy through ripping open his belt, yanks open the fly on his trousers, and Dean’s gasping and gripping Sam close with his knees and he arches up and grips Sam’s hair and groans when Sam’s fingers dive in, only—only—

“Wait,” Sam says, “wait, what are—what—” and Dean groans into his mouth and says, “Get the lead out, Sammy, it’s been fuckin’ months for me too,” but Sam pulls back and it’s—what? He slides his fingers up, under the shirt, and that weird texture just—keeps going, and he cranes his head back away from Dean’s greedy mouth and shoves the shirt up, and everything in view is _not_  Dean’s familiar creamy soft skin but is instead… beige. Beige weird spandex, up and down, and Dean finally notices too and tips his head down and knocks his skull into Sam’s chin, says _ow_  and then “What the _fuck?”_  

Sam yanks the shirt up, tears a few buttons as he goes, and the beige just keeps going, until he’s got the shirt pushed up nearly to Dean’s chin and the vest splayed out to either side and Dean’s wearing—what the hell, it’s like a… sausage casing, or something, smooth beige that ends just below Dean’s chest, and Dean smacks his flattened stomach and it makes a sound like a drum. He stares up at Sam, bewildered, and with the same thought they work his trousers down off his ass, down to his ankles, and—

Sam’s worked up a fucking sweat by the time they get the stupid thing peeled down to Dean’s hips, and his skin’s all reddened and he gets this terrible muffin-top that looks so ridiculous that Sam bites the inside of his cheek until it hurts so he won’t laugh out loud, and Dean swears and gripes and bellows JESUS to roll the damn spandex over his ass and down to his thighs, and it’s cutting in almost painful but there at least is Dean’s dick and even if Sam’s wilted a little with the effort, he’s not going to unwrap all this without getting his goddamn reward, and they fall on each other like starving men, like they always do, even if Dean’s thighs are practically rubber-banded together by the weird girdle.

Afterward, sweating together and their lips barely separated, breathing the same air, Dean murmurs, “Sammy, Sammy,” and Sam pets over the side of his head, rolls his thumb over the reddened wet part of his mouth, and Dean kisses the pad of his thumb and then says, quiet, “If you don’t get this fucking thing off me I’m going to have to get my legs friggin’ amputated,” and then once he’s finally naked from the waist down and looks like Donald Duck on a formal day, he groans and says, draped over Sam’s shoulder, “If you say one fucking thing about diet or sit-ups or anything, I will murder you dead,” and Sam lays his hand over the soft slight pooch of Dean’s dear belly and says, “Deal,” and that’s all that’s said about that. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](http://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/179197228954/firm-foundation)
> 
> Michael shouldn't judge Dean's pooch. It's a nice pooch.


End file.
